by B. B. Miller
“Now, go out there and give the good people of Cologne the show they’ve been waiting for.” I glance up to see that Tess has rejoined me. “I love you, Kennedy. And it’s going to be okay.”
“Thanks, baby. I love you, too. I’ll call you after the show.” The call disconnects, and I sigh as I take the water bottle from Tess.
“Everything okay?” she asks cautiously. I give her a wry smile.
“Yeah. He got some bad news today.”
I sit on the edge of the planter for a few minutes as I sip my water. I’m exhausted. Heartsick and still shaken over Lucas, and full of empathy and yearning for Kennedy. “Tess, I’m sorry, but I’m going to call it a day.” All I want to do right now is change into my sweats and the Redfall shirt I filched from Kennedy, and curl up on my couch.
“Okay, but we’re getting you a cab.” I don’t argue with her. We step to the curb to flag a taxi. She tilts her head at me. “Did you tell Kennedy what happened with that guy? I’ve never seen you like this, Abby.”
She gives me a knowing expression. “He’ll want to know. He obviously loves you,” she says softly.
Warmth blooms in my heart, quickly easing my lingering anxiety, and I smile. “He does.”
Kennedy
“YOU SERIOUSLY GOT your car repainted?” I ask Adam while I pace on the stage at the Mercedes-Benz arena in Berlin, waiting as an army of roadies work through another glitch in the sound system.
Time has slipped away from us again during rehearsal, and Dawson has his hands full keeping us on track. It’s been this since we got the news about Brodie. There’s an undercurrent of unease between the four of us as we each deal with what happened in our own ways. We seem to just pull it together for show time, and deliver what’s expected of us. We’re living the dream, the one Brodie always wanted for us.
That night in Cologne, we blew the roof off the stadium. Four encores and the frenzied crowd still wasn’t satisfied. After it was all over, Cameron disappeared, resurfacing just in time for the flight out in the morning.
Somewhere in the middle of the night, Matt found the next love of his life, and Sean got fresh ink. Etched and flowing beside the series of skulls and music notes on his left arm, Brodie’s words—Light It Up. That night, Tucker and I spent four hours in the gym. It’s the first time he wanted to quit before I did.
And so it goes. Day by day.
Adam’s laugh brings a welcome grin. My mood—all of our moods—have been decidedly dark. It’s not a good place for any of us to dwell. The darkness is dangerous to all of us for different reasons. That’s why I need Adam. I need him, Parker, and Abby. Anyone who can stop me from getting pulled under.
“ ‘Course I did. Told you I’d spread the word. What better way than on my car? Rock the Dream, loud and proud for all the NASCAR lovers to see.”
I take a seat at the end of the stage, my legs dangling down into the empty VIP area that will be pulsing with energy in a few hours.
“You’re going to get me backstage passes, right?” Adam asks seriously.
I tilt my head back with a laugh. It’s good to feel something—anything than the constant state of numbness we’ve all been in. “I’m pretty sure I can make that happen.”
“Had to ask. I don’t know how this stuff works with it being a charity and everything,” he mumbles.
“It’s a concert put on by my band. You’ll always have tickets and backstage passes. Don’t ever doubt that. Plus, you’re introducing some of the bands.”
“I am? See? You do love me!” I hear Sean start up again on the drums. “Mom and Dad still coming?”
“As crazy as it sounds, they are.” I’ve called them a couple of times since we’ve been in Germany.
Conversations with Dad are much easier than those with Mom. I’ve talked to her twice, and both times it was stilted and painful, but we’re trying and that’s got to count for something. The fact that they’re coming to the concert is a bit of miracle in my opinion. I know it’s mostly Dad’s doing, but I’ll take it.
“That’s good. And am I finally going to meet the elusive Abby?” he adds excitedly. I smile at her name. How I got to be so lucky to have Abby in my life, I’ll never know. The last couple of weeks away from her are worse than the first, and I know it’s only going to get harder. Being an ocean away is killing me.
There’s also been a growing sense of accountability since the realization of Brodie’s death has started to sink in. Accountability to the band, to the promise I made to Parker, and to our fans, but most importantly, to her. How many times have I told her I don’t want to be that person she met at the Fairmont? How many conversations have we had about what’s important to us? It’s in the forefront of my mind every single day, and it helps to keep the temptation at bay.
“You’re definitely going to meet her.” Dawson signals me from one of the massive amps, duty calls once more. “I’ve got to go. Sound checks are back on.”
“Knock ’em dead. See you soon.”
I pause to take a picture of the empty stadium, sending it off to Abby. Tonight, I’ll send her one of it packed with a heartbeat all its own. Each picture, each text, each conversation we have means I’m one step closer to getting back to her where I belong. My home.
On a humid, overcast Thursday, the four of us pile out of the back of a rented SUV in Brodie’s home town of Tulsa. The crowd is thinner than normal, but it’s still there in all its inappropriate, screaming glory. Demands are shouted for autographs, for pictures, for a momentary brush with fame. The scene is familiar, but in front of a funeral home, it’s wildly misplaced.
Tucker shields us from the worst of it, forming a human barrier between us and the pulsing throng who doesn’t give a shit about Brodie. The carved wooden doors close heavily behind us, as Sean adjusts his three-piece suit. It’s not a normal sight, the four of us together dressed up like this. Sean’s even dyed his hair brown for the somber occasion.
A portly fiftysomething man waddles over to us, pausing as he takes in Matt’s neck tattoo. His eyes widen slightly as he stops beside us, but he snaps back into business mode quickly.
He extends a pudgy hand, and I take it, trying not to cringe at his sweaty palm. He repeats the process with the rest of the band and Tucker, introducing himself as Derrick Morris before ushering us forward.
“Can you point me in the direction of Brodie’s family? I’d like to pass on my condolences,” I say quietly, willing my racing heart to calm the fuck down.
“There’s no one here. I’m sorry,” Derrick answers, stopping us all in our tracks.
“No one?” Matt repeats, clearly in shock.
“What the fuck?” Cam’s voice carries through to the hushed room as he cranes his head in. Tucker nudges him back, stepping into the room to give it a scan before he lets us through. There’s less than twenty people all mingling together at the back, away from the simple silver urn that sits atop an ornate pedestal. Rows and rows of empty seats spread out in front of us, and my heart takes a dive.
Scanning the sparse crowd, I recognize a few faces as we draw attention. There’s a couple of other managers I’ve seen and met over the years and one of the members of a short-lived hipster band Brodie managed in his early days. A few of them give us an obligatory head nod.
The funeral director gives us a grim smile. “If there’s no one here, then who arranged all of this?” Sean asks.
“Mr. Dixon’s cousin. Unfortunately, he couldn’t make it. The family lives in New Hampshire,” Derrick hastens to add. “They’re asking for donations to be made to the Anxiety and Depression Association.”
I lift a brow as Cameron glances over at me. The reality hits me that we never really knew Brodie at all. The overwhelming scent of flowers washes over me as we move down the aisle, stirring memories I’ve tried to drown out over the years with Brodie’s help. No amount of alcohol is enough to erase the sound of Mom sobbing against Dad’s shoulder. No drug can erase the uncharacteristic sight of Adam breaki
ng down at Robin’s funeral. I’ll never be able to forget the hushed sympathetic murmurs of an overflowing room of well-wishers and friends who loved Robin because it was impossible not to.
The realization that Brodie has literally no family who would want to show up to pay their last respects hits me hard. Were we really the closest people to him? A pang of guilt slices through me.
My feet are like bricks as Tucker guides us toward the front of the room. He waits for us to file into the empty seats before sinking down to the one closest to the aisle. It’s suddenly a million degrees in here. My throat constricts, and I curl my hands into fists, the blood pounding relentlessly in my ears.
From a concealed side door, a subdued man of the cloth shuffles to the front, and the hushed muttering dies down behind us. He’s an older gentleman, probably pushing seventy if the thinning, gray hair and gnarled, shaking hands are any indication.
The pastor’s words wash over me, and they’re simultaneously poignant and meaningless. This man didn’t know Brodie—he admitted as much. He never even laid eyes on him, yet his description of a determined, strong-willed man ring true. The whole thing barely lasts ten minutes, and that includes the heavy organ music played before he invited us all to bow our heads and remember him.
Looking out to a room of empty seats, he asks if anyone wants to share a few words. Silence greets him, and I feel my leg bounce with pent up energy. I start to rise, but I’m pushed back into my seat by Cameron. He’s up and striding to the front of the room, his mind made up.
The pastor seems to cower away from Cam, fading into a seat while Cam adjusts the microphone at the podium to his height and clears his throat.
“For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Cameron Chapman. I’ve known . . .” He pauses, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I knew Brodie for a long time. He managed our tours, which isn’t an easy task. We’re a train wreck a lot of the time.” A few subdued laughs echo through the room before he continues.
“Getting four guys like us to show up on time for anything was the least of Brodie’s challenges. But he never complained. He’d just barrel through whatever we threw at him with an attitude of his own. He never backed down. Lesser men might have been intimidated by us, but he wasn’t. If anything, it just made him more determined.” Cam pauses, glancing over at us.
“Beyond that though, I got to know Brodie a bit, as much as anyone could. He was a driven man who always had faith in us no matter what. He was there for some of our greatest achievements, and for some of our more epic nights of mayhem.” A low hoot rings through from the back of the room. Cam shoves his hands into the front pockets of his suit jacket. “Truth is, I think all of us want to escape from life from time to time, and everyone tries to find different ways to do that.” His gaze locks to mine before he continues.
“We’re never going to know why Brodie wanted to end it the way he did, but I can tell you that he went out the way he always lived his life; on his own terms, and maybe we can all learn something from that.” Taking both hands out of his pockets, he grips either side of the podium. “It’s easy to try to take some blame for this, or to try to blame each other, but he wouldn’t have wanted that, and that isn’t going to bring him back. Instead of dwelling on his death and how horrible it is, maybe we can see this as a new way of looking at life.” I glance at Sean and he catches my gaze, giving me a half grin.
“Maybe we just need to let go of old habits and bad memories. The fact that we’re still here after everything that’s happened means something. And I think we need to try to remember that whatever struggle Brodie was going through, it’s finally over, and the man can find some peace.”
“I wish you would have told me. I would have been there.” Abby’s voice is quiet as her fingers comb through the chaos of my hair. Outside her open window, life carries on. A car speeds by, and the distant sound of a dog barking complaints into the night echoes from a few streets over. Finally, after all the bullshit of the last few weeks, I’m right where I should be. Right where I need to be.
I tighten my grip on her waist, glancing up from my prime position against the soft swell of her breasts.
“I don’t want you anywhere near that kind of shit, baby.” She scoots up to sit back against the headboard, brushing a wayward strand of her hair from her face. Her cheeks are flushed, her breathing still elevated, and her skin reddened from the stubble on my jaw. She looks gloriously fucked.
“And I don’t get a say?” she protests, crossing her arms over her tits, obscuring them from my view.
I scrub a hand down my face before moving to sit at the edge of the bed. “Did you forget what he did to you?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have wanted to be there for you. That’s what people do who love each other.”
I huff, hanging my head in my hands before turning to look at her once more. “Like I was here for you when Lucas came around, you mean?”
That earns me an uncharacteristic scowl. “Stop it. You were touring, and you couldn’t have possibly known he’d show up. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.”
“Fuck.” I rake my hand through my hair in frustration before closing the distance between us, cupping her face between my hands. “Let’s just get out of here. Me and you.” I trail my thumb over her cheek, and she leans into my touch. “Go somewhere away from all of this fucking bullshit. I can call for the jet. We can leave right now. Tonight.”
Her eyes search mine, and I can see her consider it for a brief moment before she kills my master plan. “Running isn’t going to change it,” she says gently.
“No. But it would sure beat the hell out of dealing with it for a while. I’m fucking tired, you know? I just found you, and every time we turn around it’s another fucking crisis.”
“And we’re dealing them,” she says emphatically, her hands closing around my wrists. “We’re stronger because we’re getting through them together.”
I rest my forehead against hers, breathing her in. “I know. You’re right.”
“Of course I am,” she whispers. “Now, let me welcome you home again.”
Abigail
I peek over at him and smile. He’s slouched in the passenger seat, eyes closed and face tilted up, absorbing the morning sunlight. His long lashes brush his cheekbones softly, and he looks so beautiful, it’s all I can do to keep from leaning over and . . . I tighten my hands on the steering wheel to anchor myself. Shifting in my seat to ease the slight ache he’s left me with this morning, I smirk and hum softly to myself.
After thoroughly celebrating our reunion during the night, I’d woken feeling much more rested than I’d expected. As I quickly dressed while he was finishing up in the shower, I’d decided that maybe getting away for a quick overnight somewhere wouldn’t be a bad idea after all. Just a short respite in a soothing environment to recharge before the controlled chaos of the concert. And I happened to know just where we could go.
“I haven’t ridden in a convertible in forever,” he muses, finally opening his eyes and smiling over at me.
“I love it; I don’t even care if it’s overcast. As long as it’s not raining, the top’s down—period. I don’t think I could drive anything else.” I smoothly change lanes, reveling in the engine’s power.
“Well, there’s not much call for convertibles in Minnesota, not with our winters,” he jokes, before turning a bit wistful. “And since we hit it big, it’s mostly been those SUVs Tucker keeps renting.”
I look at him in surprise. “You don’t have a car?” From what he’s said, his home in Bodega Bay sounds pretty isolated. He wouldn’t call a cab just to go to the grocery store, would he?
“Yeah, but not a convertible.” He rakes a hand through his hair, but it does nothing to tame his longish locks as they blow around in the open air. “They just sit in the garage, mostly.”
They—of course he has more than one. “What are they?” Visions of him behind the wheel of something sleek, f
ast, and foreign come to mind.
“A 1968 Mustang Fastback that Matty refurbished, and I just had a Tesla delivered about six months ago.”
I laugh and glance over at him. “Matt knows about cars? And a Tesla?”
“Hey, they’re sweet cars,” he defends with a laugh. “Besides, they’re better for the environment.”
I frown, looking at my gas gauge, but then shrug. “When they come out with a hybrid convertible, I’ll consider it.”
“Um, actually, I think Tesla makes an electric one,” he says, giving me a sly glance. “When’s your birthday again?”
My jaw drops, and he laughs. “Not until October, hot shot, so calm down. You are not buying me a car.”
“Abby,” he whines, looking at me with exasperation.
“Mmm. Well, we’re almost here, so we’ll have to table this conversation for later.”
My nerves make an appearance as I slow down to the speed limit as we enter town. I note that Kennedy pulls on his Ray Bans as he slouches down a little more in the seat, and I frown in concern, realizing that having the top down is a double-edged sword. He’s exposed, and if someone recognizes him, this getaway will have been for nothing. For a second, I contemplate pulling over to raise the roof, but before I hit the turn signal he lays a gentle hand on my thigh. “Just drive, baby. I like having the top down, too. I’ll be fine,” he assures me with a smile.
I step up the pace a little as I navigate to the long driveway on the outskirts of town. Within a few minutes, I pull up in front of the farmhouse and turn nervously to Kennedy. “Well, this is it. What do you think?”
“It’s amazing. It’s the quintessential country B and B.” He grins, but when he pulls off his sunglasses I can see his own nerves showing. “Um, are you sure this is okay with them?”
“Of course. You just might want to guard your eardrums when you meet my mom.” He lifts a brow. “Don’t you want to do this? I mean, if not, let me know now.”
“No! No, this is great. It’s just . . .” He drags a hand through his hair and chuckles apprehensively. “I want them to like me, you know?”